"Pedro, thou blessed saint! Pedro at last! My life! I thought never to see thy good face again. Where hast thou been these years? Welcome, welcome as the sun! Would these bracelets permit, I’d embrace thee, old friend." His joy was unaffected and pathetic. Pedro was for a moment overwhelmed by its demonstration. Freeing himself of a burden whose savory odors told its nature, he grasped Cristoval’s hands, then dropped one to dash his own hastily across his eyes. "God ha’ mercy, Cristoval! I—I—Spit, roast, and baste my carcass!—I’m glad to see thee. Wait!" He turned hurriedly to the basket which he had deposited upon the table, fished out a loaf, and thrust it upon the prisoner. "Here!" he whispered, with great impressiveness, looking carefully toward the door, "Chew it up fine! Chew it fine—dost hear?" Cristoval took the loaf mechanically, surveying him with astonishment. "What thinkst thou, man—that I would swallow it whole? I am hungered, but no cormorant. I’ll wait, by thy leave." "Yes, yes! Wait till I’m gone. Hide it. Eat it when alone." Cristoval scanned his round face, now serious, and tucked the loaf into his doublet. "Ah!" quoth Pedro, with a nod of approval. "Now I will lay out thy supper, and whilst thou dost eat I will talk. I must not tarry over long—to-night. To-morrow night I will tarry longer. Ha, ha! Stew my tripes and giblets!" and he patted Cristoval on the back, mystifying the cavalier with his uncalled-for levity. He continued rapidly: "Sit, _amigo_, and I’ll tell thee a history of late events, and briefly. I have talked with De Soto." "Then he hath returned!" said Cristoval.